Insane Clown and Posse
by Mummyluvr
Summary: [Supernatural & PSYCH] When an urban legend comes to life, Shawn Spencer and his friend Gus must turn to two FBI agents who aren't what or who they seem.
1. Telling Secrets

It's been a long time coming, but I've finally gotten close to finishing my Supernatural/Psych story. So, for all of you who watch both shows and love 'em, look no further. They're here together.

With school back in, it may take me a while to update, that's jsut a fair warning.

Discalimer: I don't own Psych OR Supernatural. That's why I'm sad all the time :(

On to the story!

* * *

**Insane Clown and Posse**

Santa Barbara, 1989

Henry Spencer sighed as he glanced over his paper at his son, Shawn, who seemed to be dealing with some sort of internal conflict. "All right, son," the officer sighed, "what is it _this_ time?"

Shawn scratched at his head, watching a boy around his age pulling a younger child out of the diner's small bathroom and past their table. He assumed they were brothers, though they didn't look anything alike. "I have a secret."

His father straightened up, laying the paper flat on the table. "Shawn, remember what I told you about secrets?"

Shawn nodded, still watching the two boys, who had joined an older man in a leather jacket at the diner's back table and seemed to be finishing off breakfast. "It's not a bad secret, dad. No one's going to get hurt."

Henry relaxed a little. "Then what is it?"

"I think a girl at school has a crush on me."

"What makes you say that?"

Shawn shrugged. "I, uh, saw my name scribbled all over her notebook."

"Well, then go up and talk to her about it. You can't cower in the corner forever, Shawn."

"That's not the problem. Gus has a crush on her. What should I do?"

Henry shook his head, rolling his eyes as he picked his paper back up. "You know I can't tell you that, Shawn. You have to figure it out for yourself. Just remember, sometimes, in order to be successful, you have to tell your secrets. Just do it with discretion."

Shawn nodded sadly and looked back at his muffin as the family from the back table walked past without paying their bill. He glanced at them briefly, noticing the littlest boy's shoe was untied.

* * *

"Did you boys hear that?" John Winchester asked as his family left the diner. 

"What that guy was telling his kid about telling secrets?" his son, Dean, replied uncertainly, "yeah. What about it?"

"You know that everything he told that boy is a lie, right?"

"Yes, sir," Dean and his younger brother answered in unison.

"Good," John nodded, pulling out his car keys and unlocking the doors for his sons, "now get in. We have a hunt to finish."

The children were about to climb in as someone came barreling up to them, out of breath, long dark hair sticky with sweat. "Wait up!" the new kid yelled, coming to a stop just short of the Impala and looking the family up and down, "his shoelace is untied."

"What?" Dean asked as his father glared at him and motioned to get in the car.

"Your little brother," Shawn panted, "his shoelace. Wouldn't want him to trip."

"Thanks," Dean muttered as Sammy, already safely in the car, glanced at his shoes, "how'd you know?"

Shawn shrugged. "Just happened to notice. I'm Shawn, by the way. You guys new in town?"

"Just visiting," Dean replied hastily, climbing into the back seat beside his brother, "thanks again for the tip."

The car's engine revved, and the '67 Impala sped off, leaving Shawn standing alone on the sidewalk. Slowly, he turned and trudged back to the diner, deciding it would be pointless to tell his father the family hadn't paid.

* * *

Well, that's chapter one. What do you think? Please review, it's what keeps me going! 


	2. The Clown Doll

Wow. There a lot of people out there that like both of these shows. Well, here's chapter 2, please don't be shy and review, review, review! (OK, bad poetry, I know).

* * *

Santa Barbara, Present Day

Maggie Stenson sighed and flipped on the TV. She hadn't sitting for the Peterson family. Their kids were terrible brats who never listened. Worse yet, the family didn't have cable in any room but the master bedroom, which she'd been forbidden to enter.

Boredom gnawed uncomfortably at her insides as she watched the old black and white set the Peterson children worshipped. Finally, she decided to call the parents and ask a special favor. Maybe they would let her watch TV in their room if she agreed to sit for free from, now on. But was that really worth it?

Maggie picked up the TV Guide that had been laying on a table. "Monk" was on. She never missed "Monk." Her mind was made up. She grabbed her cell phone and dialed Mike Peterson's number.

* * *

The door to the master bedroom slowly creaked open as Maggie pushed it. She'd gotten permission, after about ten minutes of begging, to enter the room and watch some good old OCD detective work. 

She flopped down on the bed and clicked on the newer set, glancing back into one corner of the room as she did so and immediately regretting the action. Staring at her was a large clown doll, the kind that toy companies make just to freak little kids out. She shuddered as she grabbed her phone again to call Mike and ask if she could move the life-size doll into the closet or something.

The man's phone rang once, twice, three times before he answered. "Mr. Peterson," Maggie began, looking back at the TV, where Adrian Monk was obsessively cleaning his doorknobs in the dishwasher, "sorry to bother you again, but I was wondering if I could maybe move that weird clown doll into the closet while I'm here? It's kind of creeping me out."

"Maggie," Mike said hurriedly, "grab the kids and get out of the house. We don't have a clown doll!"

Mike's warning was cut short, though, as Maggie looked behind her and screamed. The clown wasn't in the corner.


	3. The Psychic and the FBI

Nice to see that someone replied! Well, here's the third chapter, where we finally get to see some action (not to mention some characters we actually CARE about!).

* * *

"Carry on my wayward son," Shawn Spencer warbled as the blue Echo sped closer to its destination, "there'll be peace when you are done."

Burton Guster, Shawn's only real friend, leaned forward and clicked the radio off. "That's enough, Shawn," he warned, "I can and will throw you out of this car."

"Oh, but Gus," Shawn whined, "it's such a good song. And look, we're so close to the crime scene."

"How do you know that? Those 'vibrations' getting stronger?"

"Actually, I looked at the road signs, but that vibrations line is good. I'll have to use it on the cops."

Gus rolled his eyes. "Anything's better than telling them about the radio in the backseat. You know, Shawn, one of these days they're gonna find out you're not really psychic, and you know what's gonna happen then?"

"They'll laugh about it for years to come?"

"No, Shawn. They'll have you arrested for fraud. You want to get arrested? I don't wanna get arrested. Have you _seen_ the inside of a prison? Their bathrooms are out in the open, and I get stage fright."

Shawn smiled. "Don't worry, Gus, I'll be your cover."

Gus scowled as he spotted the yellow crime tape the police had spread around the scene. He sighed, parking the car and stepping out onto the pavement. Shawn joined him, pointing to an old black Impala that was in near-mint condition.

"That is so cool," Shawn gushed, running up to the car and letting his fingers dance over the jet black metal, "I wonder who owns it?"

"With our luck," Gus muttered, "it's Lassiter, and he dusts it for prints every night. Come on." He started up toward the modest house, best friend in tow.

"You know," Shawn continued, "I've only ever seen one other car like that, and it was back in '89."

Gus stopped walking, causing Shawn to run into him. "You remember seeing that car in _1989_?"

"Well, not _that_ car exactly, no, but one just like it. Why?"

The shorter man said nothing, just shook his head and walked up the staircase and into a large bedroom that was covered in splashes of blood. "What happened here?" he asked as Shawn walked past him and began looking around.

"Well," a tall, shaggy-haired cop neither man had ever seen before said, walking up, "someone was murdered."

"Yes," Shawn gasped, grabbing his head and stumbling around the room, "I can sense it." He glanced around the room, noticing several strands of long blonde hair on the bed sheets, which were shredded and covered in blood. "The victim was female," a silver class ring glinted in the corner of the room, the date proudly announcing a graduation in 2008, "she was sixteen, had blonde hair, and was stabbed to death." He fell to his knees, shuddering.

"Is he all right?" the tall cop asked.

Shawn's head snapped up. "Shawn Spencer," he smiled, holding out a hand for the man to shake, "I'm a psychic."

"Oh," the man's eyes went wide, "well, I'm Agent Sam Baldwin, and that's my partner, Agent Dean Skouris. We're with the FBI."

Shawn and Gus looked in the direction Sam was pointing and saw a young man with short brown hair clad in a leather jacket. He was talking to Juliet O'Hara, smiling charmingly as he did so.

"I'd like to meet him, please," Shawn said, standing up and brushing himself off, "if it's not too much trouble."

"It is," a familiar said from behind them. All three men turned to find themselves staring at Carlton Lassiter, who didn't seem to be in too good a mood.

"But I feel like I'm being pulled toward him," Shawn explained, "like all of our questions will be answered if I can just talk to him."

"It's bad enough that the FBI even has to be here," Lassiter hissed, "but do you really have to bother them with your voodoo?"

"As a matter of fact," Shawn nodded, "I do. Excuse me." He set off across the room to where the other detective was talking. "I don't believe we've met," he said, offering his hand to the new man, who shook it slowly, "Shawn Spencer. I'm the psychic."

"That's nice," Dean said, forcing a small smile, "so, who did it?"

"I was hoping you could tell me. My spirit guide told me to talk to you."

"Oh, really? And what does it want you to talk to me about?"

"You're new in town?" Shawn asked as Dean nodded. "Is that your car parked out front? The Impala?"

"Does it have something to do with the murders?"

"No, but, _man_, that is an _awesome_ car! Where'd you get it?"

"My dad. Now, Haley Joel, can you tell me about the case? Who's the murderer?"

Shawn put his hand to his forehead and squinted his eyes shut, a gesture Dean was all too familiar with. "It was," Shawn began, "Colonel Mustard, in the library, with the candlestick."

Dean's face fell as the 'psychic' opened his eyes. "Was that a vision?" he asked mockingly.

"As a matter of fact, it was. And your partner's gonna kick your butt at 'Clue' tonight."

"Let me guess," the agent sighed, rolling his eyes as his partner and Gus joined them, "you want me to tell you everything we know so that you can ask the spirits who killed the little girl with as much detail as possible. You need me to do this because spirits can easily get confused because so many teenagers are brutally murdered everyday, right?"

"That's how it works."

Sam sighed. "She was 16, you were right about that. Her name was Maggie Stenson, and she was babysitting. She called the father of the children around nine to ask if she could watch her favorite television program in their bedroom. She called back two minutes later asking if she could move the large clown doll."

"What clown doll?" Gus asked.

"That's just it," Sam continued, "the Peterson's don't own a clown doll. The kids heard Maggie screaming and called the cops. She was stabbed to death, apparently by the clown."

"Ahh, yes," Shawn nodded, closing his eyes and waving his arms around like a maniac, "I can see it now. The clown, the knife-"

"Where can we find them?" Dean asked.

Shawn shrugged. "Can't tell ya."

The two FBI Agents rolled their eyes in exasperation as Juliet finally spoke up. "Shawn, if you could maybe come back some other time, it would be appreciated."

"All right," Shawn said grudgingly, suddenly noticing something sticking out of the shorter agent's pocket. It looked like a hotel keycard, "I know when I'm not wanted. Come on, Gus, let's go try to solve this case where there aren't so many non-believers."


	4. Nonbelievers and Revelations

Thanks for all of the reviews, guys! I'm glad people like the story, and really glad that some of you have said my Psych characters are right on. I was a little worried about that. Anyway, here's chapter 4!

* * *

"What was that all about?" Sam Winchester asked his brother as Shawn and Gus exited the room.

"Dunno," Dean shrugged, glancing around the room at the various officers and CSIs, "but if we want to do an EMF sweep we'll have to wait until everyone clears out. Maybe tonight."

"Tonight? We're gonna break into a crime scene?"

Dean smirked. "It's not like we've never done it before. Come on, College Boy, don't tell me they neglected to cover breaking and entering at Stanford."

Sam shook his head, chuckling. He walked up to the small window set into the wall. "I suppose we could get in _here_ if the door's guarded." On the pavement below he could see Shawn and Gus climbing into the tiny blue car. "You really think he's psychic?"

Dean shrugged. "He pulled your vision face for a while there, but I don't think it was the real thing. He's faking it."

"Why?"

"Attention? Money? Maybe Juliet?"

* * *

"Dude," Shawn exclaimed as they passed the black Chevy on their way back to the Echo, "I _knew_ I'd seen this car before. And that jacket the shorter one was wearing, I've seen _it_, too." 

"Shawn, if you tell me you met that guy in 1989-"

"Not just him, the other one, too. I don't think they're really with the FBI. Come on, I have a plan." He took off running through the streets, only slowing once he'd approached his friend's car.

"What's the plan?" Gus panted as he caught up.

"Take me to the police station, then to Kinko's."

* * *

"Why do you need to know who owns the car?" Officer Buzz McNab asked as he walked through the station with Shawn and Gus tagging along at his heels. 

"I had a vision," Shawn lied, "I saw the license number. KAZ 2Y5. I believe the car may be tied up with a murder."

"The Stenson girl?"

"Uh, no, I'm not getting the vibe. It's something else. Listen, could you just run the plates and tell me everything that comes up on the owner of the car?"

Buzz sighed, glancing nervously around the halls that were crawling with cops. "I dunno, Shawn, I could get in trouble."

"You could also save a life, you'd be a hero."

"All right," the officer caved, "I'll do it, but it'll take some time. Come back in half an hour and I'll give you everything I could find."

Shawn nodded, grabbing Gus' shoulder and walking confidently from the station.

"You memorized the plates?" Gus questioned incredulously as they neared the Echo.

Shawn nodded. "Yeah. Now, hop to it, we're going to Kinko's."

"Why are we going to Kinko's?"

"We're going to ask if anyone fitting our new friends' descriptions has recently been there. If they're not real agents, where did they get the ids?"

* * *

"Oh, sure," the short brunette behind the desk sighed, twirling her hair and popping her gum, "those two was a couple of real hotties. Nice car, too. They came in early this morning. I dunno what they was doing, though, I was too busy checking out the tall one's rump." 

"Thanks for your help," Gus said, slightly disgusted, "well, that answer your question, Shawn?"

"Yes," Shawn answered, "and the tall one _did_ have a nice butt."


	5. Of Rifles and Murders

Well, time for another chapter (this one's a bit longer, I promise!).

* * *

"I knew it!" Shawn cheered after gathering the needed information from Officer McNab and looking briefly through it in the safety of his own office, "the guy we met today isn't really an FBI agent. His name's Winchester."

"Like the rifle?" Gus asked, taking the paper from his friend's hand.

"Exactly like the rifle. And that partner of his? Really his brother. It's the same people, but different names."

"Are you sure that's really them?" Gus questioned, eyeing the paper in front of him in confusion, "because it says here that Dean Winchester's dead."

"What?"

"Yeah. He was shot in St. Louis about a year ago. He was wanted for murder. Shawn, we're dealing with a real criminal here."

"How is he still walking around if he's dead, Gus?"

Gus shrugged. "Maybe he had a twin."

"Only sibling's his brother. Why would a guy who's legally dead and his brother impersonate FBI agents and sneak into a crime scene?"

Gus shrugged again. "No idea, but those names they used, sounded familiar. It's been bugging me all day, but I finally figured it out. Baldwin and Skouris are the names of the NTAC agents in 'The 4400.'"

"You watch '4400?'"

"That Isabelle chick's hot."

Shawn nodded. "Yeah, she is, isn't she?"

Gus smiled. "Psycho, but hot. So, what do we do about Mulder and Scully?"

"Oh, I have an idea," Shawn replied, grinning slyly.

* * *

Dean sat on the bed, flipping through his father's journal. "Killer clowns," he muttered, glancing briefly at his brother, who was busily clicking away on the laptop, "what next?" 

Sam sighed. "It's an urban legend, Dean. Most of the time, the girl gets out, though. And why the babysitter? Why not kill the kids, too?"

Dean shrugged. "Clowns like kids? It doesn't matter who the thing killed and who it didn't, we just need to find it before it has a chance to hurt anyone else."

"Yeah, I guess. Hey, you think we'll see that psychic again?"

"Hope not." Dean muttered just as someone knocked on the motel room door. He slid off the bed and crossed the room to answer it. He immediately wished he hadn't. "Well, if it isn't Psychic Boy. Funny, we were just talking about you."

"I know," Shawn replied, smirking, as he pushed his way past the hunter and into the small room.

"I'm really sorry about this," Gus muttered as he followed his friend.

"No problem," Sam smiled, quickly shutting the laptop and rushing to the bed to hide the journal, "we just weren't expecting anyone. What brings you out here?"

"Just a vibe," Shawn replied. Suddenly, he grasped at his chest and began gasping. "Ow! Owowowowow!"

"What is it?" Sam asked, alarmed.

"Gunshots," Shawn gasped, "the heart! My heart, it's like someone shot me. Twice now. The gun-"

"Maggie was stabbed to death," Dean pointed out, "guns have nothing to do with the murder."

"Not the girl. _You._ It's a certain type of gun… no, a rifle…there's a name… W-I-N…"

"Winchester?" Dean suggested, hardly buying the gag.

"Yes, Winchester. I'm seeing," Shawn continued, wiping at his brow and panting, "a fire. Deadly. It's… yes, an electrical fire. A baby, a boy, a man… They're sad."

Before he knew what had hit him, Shawn found himself pinned to the wall and looking into Dean's hazel eyes. "You know," the hunter hissed, "I don't think you're really a psychic."

"That's OK," Shawn smirked, "I don't think you're really an FBI agent."

Sam walked up and pulled the two men apart, letting Shawn drop back onto the floor. "We have our badges with us," he offered, whipping out an id, "take a look."

"That's fake," Shawn offered, "and not the best picture of you."

Sammy glanced down at his id and frowned as Gus walked up. "Listen," the darker man said, "we know you two were at Kinko's this morning and we know that Agents Baldwin and Skouris are characters on 'The 4400.'"

Sam glared at his brother, who shrugged. "That Isabelle chick looks kinda like Cassie," he defended, "besides, there's nothing else on Sunday nights."

"Just tell us what you're up to," Shawn said, standing up by using the wall to support his weight, "and we won't report you to our friends at the station."

Dean smirked. "You report us, and we'll report you. You're not really psychic."

"How would you know?"

The brother's glanced at each other. "We know psychic," Sam grinned, "just tell us why you're doing this."

Shawn and Gus stared at the two men, one of whom was supposed to be dead, then glanced briefly at each other. They had no idea if the guys were dangerous or not, didn't even know whether or not to trust them. It was, as usual, Shawn's leap-first-ask-later attitude that had gotten them into the jam, and Gus was more than happy to wait for his long-time friend to start explaining.

"Come on," Dean coaxed, "it's good to tell your secrets, just as long as you do it with discretion." Shawn raised an eyebrow. "By the way, Psychic Wonder, your shoelace is untied."

Shawn gaped at the man standing before him. "You remember that?"

"I have a better memory than you might think. Now, come on, out with it. Why pretend to be psychic?"

Shawn sighed. "My father was a cop. He wanted me to be a cop, so he trained me all my life to notice details. The photographic memory helped. Well, I got in trouble a while back for phoning in a bunch of tips that led to arrests, and they thought I had something to do with a string of murders. To get out of being thrown in jail, I told the cops I was psychic and I started working cases. Now you. Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"You pulled my file?"

"I didn't think you were really an agent. So, tell me, what do a dead guy and Stanford drop-out have to do with a nutso clown?"

The brother's again looked at each other, mentally debating whether honesty was truly the best policy. "Have you ever heard the urban legend about the clown doll?" Sam finally asked after a long pause.

"Yeah," Gus nodded, "it's always been one of my favorites. The babysitter wants to watch a channel they only get on the TV in the bedroom, but she gets creeped out by the life-size clown doll in the room and calls the parents to ask if she can move it. Turns out, they don't have a clown doll. She gets out and calls the cops. Why?"

"It's exactly like this murder," Sam sighed.

"You think someone's impersonating the legend?"

"We think it's the actual legend," Dean stated, "we think it's supernatural."

"Supernatural?" Shawn asked, "sounds like a generic title for an awesome TV show. What's it got to do with the Stenson girl?"

"You might want to sit down," Sam advised, "both of you. Have either one of you ever experienced something you can't explain?"

"I have," Gus nodded, "I heard voices in my house, telling me that it sat on an ancient burial ground. Turns out Shawn had just stuck a walkie talkie in the wall."

"I know how you feel," Sam sighed, "Dean put one under my bed once. He regretted it, though."

"How was I supposed to know you would shoot it?" Dean demanded, opening the journal again and flipping through it for references to killer clown dolls. "You gonna tell them what we're doing here or not?"

Sam grinned. "When I was a baby, our house burned down, you read that in the file. It wasn't an electrical fire, though. It was a demon, one we're still chasing. That's what my brother and I do, we hunt things that most people don't know exist. We've taken down urban myths before, and now we're after the clown. Any questions?"

"That's it?" Shawn asked, fidgeting in his chair.

"The abridged version of the 'truth is out there' speech," Dean nodded, "that's it. Now, if you boys would excuse us, we have a house to check for demonic activity."

"You're going back to the house?"

"Shawn," Gus hissed, "these people are crazy. You can't tell me you actually _believe_ them."

"Can I come along? The police haven't got any leads and if I could take a longer look at the crime scene-"

"You don't get it, do you?' Dean asked, "it couldn't have been a person. It's something paranormal."

"Just let me come with you and see."

"Shawn," Gus whispered urgently, "I think we should get out of here."

Shawn held up a finger to quiet his nervous friend. "Hold on just a minute. These guys might have something. I mean, weird things happen, right? Why isn't it possible for an urban legend to come to life and start killing people?"

"Can I talk to you outside?" Shawn let himself get pulled out the door and into the parking lot. "These guys are crazy, you know that, right? They probably escaped from some insane asylum and are thin king up ways to kill and eat us!"

"Gus, Gus, Gus," Shawn sighed, "you underestimate me, as usual. I have a plan. See, we play along with them, help them catch their little ghosty or whatever, then turn them in. They might be able to help us solve the crime, then we get credit for _two_ major accomplishments."

"But what if they kill us before we get a chance to turn them in?"

"You just let me worry about that."


	6. I Had a Vision

Thanks again to everyone who's been reading. It really does mean a lot to me!

* * *

"You named your fake psychic detective agency 'Psych?'" Sam asked as the Echo pulled up outside the office building, "isn't that kind of obvious?"

"_Thank_ you," Gus said as he climbed from the car, "it's good to know that _someone_ agrees with me." It had been a long, silent car ride to the office, where Sam and Gus were to wait for any news from Dean and Shawn, who had gone back to the murder scene to investigate a little more thoroughly.

The two men walked into the office and Gus flipped on the lights. "Nice place," Sam muttered, "cozy. You get a lot of cases?"

"Well," Gus sighed, "we investigated a haunting that was really a form of multiple personality disorder, Shawn's held séances, but mostly we stumble into police cases."

"Sounds cool. So, this murder with the clown doll, does stuff like that happen often around here?"

"First time I've heard of something like it. Why?"

"Well," Sammy explained, "Santa Barbara might be the place where the legend started. My brother and I need _something_ to go on before we can find out how to kill the thing."

Gus shrugged. "Maybe it's just a maniac."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Or, maybe," he began, digging into the bag at his side for his laptop, "it's something _more_."

* * *

"It's cool how you flash that fake badge and they let you in," Shawn said as he and Dean looked through the master bedroom of the Peterson household. The hunter had pulled out his trusty home-made EMF reader and was walking around the room. 

"Something was definitely here," he muttered as he stuffed the instrument back in his jacket pocket, "and it wasn't human, that's for sure."

"The window wasn't forced open," Shawn said, noticing the fact that the latch hadn't been touched, "and it doesn't look like the door's been jimmied, either. Whatever it is, someone let it in."

"Or it went right through the wall," Dean said as his phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out and answered it, flipping it open. "Hello? _Really_? We'll be right there."

"What is it? My office isn't haunted, is it?"

"Sam found something. Come on."

* * *

"So," Sam began the moment his brother and Shawn walked through the door, "there was this nut job, Ben James, being held in an asylum not far from here. He was a murderer. His first victim was a girl named Mary, who's eyes had been carved out." 

"Like in the Bloody Mary legend?" Shawn asked.

"Exactly. His second victim was a boy named Tim, who was found hanging over his car. There was a hook shoved in the door handle."

"The Hookman."

"His third victim, the last one, was a college student named Mark. He was found with two pencils shoved up his nose, face first on his desk in his bedroom."

"The pencil suicide," Gus noted, "I've heard that one, too."

"So, our guy Ben is an urban legend killer?" Dean asked, "nothing supernatural about it? I'm telling you, man, people are crazy."

Sam sighed. "There wasn't anything supernatural about it until the other night. About an hour before Maggie's murder took place, Ben died in his cell."

Dean nodded. "His ghost decided to finish the job, make a few more legends real, but it's all so random. How's he pick the legends?"

"That's what we were working on when you came back," Gus explained, "Sam thinks it might be a website."

Sam nodded, rubbing at his temples as a massive headache began to form. "Yeah. Something like hellhoundslair, you know." He squinted against the lights in the office, which had seemed to grow suddenly brighter.

"Sam?" Dean asked as his brother's vision came on full force.

* * *

The small blue Echo sped down the streets of Santa Barbara, the headlights of the semi shining brightly behind it as the truck gained. Dean shoved his foot to the floor, looking behind him, desperate for a way out. 

In the cab of the truck, an eerily pale face smiled maniacally. It looked almost like a clown, red nose and all. There was no doubt about it, Benjamin James had found them, and was ready to exact his revenge.

Dean pushed the Echo, willing it to go faster as Shawn and Gus watched the truck behind them slow. "I think it's giving up," Gus said happily. Slowly, the elder hunter eased his foot off the gas, glancing back at the truck that was falling quickly behind them.

"I think you're right," Dean grinned, turning back to the road just as another pair of headlights bore down upon the tiny car. The hunter threw the Echo in reverse, only to find his escape blocked by the semi Ben had been driving. The two trucks collided, ramming into each other and crushing the small blue car and all of its passengers.


	7. The Killer in the Backseat

Whew. After that disturbing vision I sure hope the boys come up with a good plan!

* * *

Sam gasped, clutching his head, and was surprised to find himself sitting back in a large leather chair. He looked around the room and saw one concerned face, one face full of knowing, and someone who didn't look very happy.

"He stole my vision face," Shawn complained.

"He actually _is_ psychic," Dean snapped.

"But it's mine," Shawn whined, "I called it!"

"The car," Sam muttered, "the Echo. It got smashed between two semis and we were all inside it."

"That's a company car!" Gus yelped.

"Gus, relax," Shawn soothed, "I'm sure if we get out of it alive they'll understand."

"We won't get out of it alive, though," Sam said, "two semis up against that little thing? We don't stand a chance."

Dean stood up and began to pace the room. "There's a legend about a VW Bug," he finally explained, "there's a big truck crash outside of a couple's house, and they agree to leave the trucks there until the investigation's over. A few days later, though, they regret the decision. Something smells, and the cops come to take the trucks away and find three dead bodies in the Bug between them. But the ghost can't get _both _trucks to hit us, can it?"

"It only has to use one," Sam reasoned, "only has to put us in harm's way, then come up behind us. If it gets us in the path of an oncoming truck, we'll be sandwiched."

"I don't suppose you know when or where this happens," Shawn said, watching with mild interest as Dean paced through the office.

Sammy shook his head. "It was dark, though. I think it was somewhere in Santa Barbara."

"Well," Shawn scoffed, "that's a lot to go on."

"You've got more precise info, then, Psychic Wonder?" Dean challenged, stopping his jog around the room to face Shawn and stare the shorter man down.

"Where do you get all these nicknames?" the 'psychic' asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"He used to use them on me," Sam replied, still rubbing his aching head, "I guess you're easier pickings. You don't fight back."

"Oh, I don't?" Shawn questioned, "well, all right, here's something you probably didn't see coming. That jacket? _So_ last century. Oh, and back in '89, you were kind of goofy looking. Yeah, you were such a freak that I actually remember."

"At least I didn't look like a skate punk in training," Dean shot back.

"_My_ car isn't a boat."

"It isn't _your_ car," Gus pointed out.

"That was a low blow," Dean nodded, ignoring Gus, "but at least I'm not gay."

"What?" the office's three other occupants gasped in unison.

"Oh, come on," Dean smirked, "you and Gus? It's so obvious. So, are you gonna invite me and Sam to the wedding?"

Gus scowled as Shawn began laughing. "Touché," the fake psychic chuckled, "but I should probably tell you that for a while there I thought you and Sam…"

"Just once," Dean nodded, "and Sammy didn't go along with it, even if lives _were_ in danger. Otherwise, we both stick to chicks."

"Except for that one time," Sam grinned, "but I can hardly hold that against you. It was dark in that club, and you were pretty drunk."

"Yeah. So was he."

* * *

"Benjamin James was cremated," Lassiter announced proudly, his eyes traveling over the FBI agent that stood before him, "and even if he hadn't been, why would you want to exhume the body? It has nothing to do with this case." 

"It has everything to do with the case," Dean argued, "do you know if any of his close personal belongings were saved, maybe he'd just gotten a haircut and they hadn't gotten rid of the hair? Is anything left?"

Carlton shook his head. "Nothing. But I still don't understand your sudden fascination with the ULK."

"ULK?"

"Urban Legend Killer," Juliet offered, approaching the two men, "I ran a search on him after Shawn called."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "The psychic called you about it?"

"He said James' spirit was restless, so I looked the guy up. He patterns his murders off of popular urban myths, like Bloody Mary and the man with the hook. You have to admit, the way the Stenson girl died matches his MO."

Dean nodded. "Just what I was telling your partner here. I've been working with your psychic, Ms. O'Hara. He's very convincing. He's made a true believer out of me."

"He's amazing," Juliet agreed.

"So, are you seeing anyone?"

"Excuse me?"

"I was just thinking," Dean grinned, "that maybe we could get together tonight and talk about the case, as two believers in the unexplained, and I just wanted to make sure it wouldn't be seen by anyone as a date. Wouldn't want someone to get jealous."

Juliet sighed, glancing at Lassiter, who rolled his eyes again and walked off. "I'd love to, Dean, but I have to work late. Maybe we could meet up somewhere? Around nine?"

Dean's grin widened as he nodded. "Fine by me."

* * *

He was glad he had Sam around. Really glad. Without Sam, he would have had to trust Gus and Shawn to look for the source of the ghost's urban myth list. While Gus struck him as an OK guy, there was just something about Shawn Spencer that didn't sit well with Dean. The older man was irresponsible, a liar, and kind of crazy. To tell the truth, he reminded Dean a lot of himself, which scared the hunter more than he would admit. 

But, Sammy was back at Psych HQ with his trusty laptop, keeping an eye on Dean's almost-double, so he'd been free for the night. His date with the lovely Juliet O'Hara had gone well, and Dean was wondering whether or not he should move in for a kiss when he saw it. A shadow lurking in the backseat of the female officer's car. It was there and gone so quickly Dean thought he might have imagined it, but with a killer on the loose, he couldn't take any chances.

"You know," he said as they reached their cars, "it's kind of late. Maybe I should give you a ride."

"I just had a burger and a Coke," she smiled, "I'll be fine." Juliet pulled open the car door and slid in behind the wheel.

"Are you sure?" Dean asked.

"Positive," she sighed, closing the door.

Glancing back at the officer's car, Dean climbed into his own and started it up, following his date out of the restaurant parking lot and onto the deserted highway. That's when he saw it again, a shadow, clearly the head and shoulders of a male, looming up from the backseat of Juliet's car. There was a sharp object in the shadow's hand.

Thinking fast, Dean flashed his brights and the shadow ducked back down. That was when he understood. Cursing, he fumbled his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed his brother's number.

* * *

Sam grabbed for his phone as it vibrated across the table. He checked the id and was glad to find his brother's name on the screen. He had some important news for Dean that really couldn't wait. 

"Hello?" he asked, smiling at his laptop screen and the pile of paper he'd recently finished printing, "Dean, yeah, listen, I found the site and I know what the next legend is."

"Killer in the backseat," Dean shouted through a crackle of static, "I know. I also know who the next victim is. It's Juliet."

"Juliet?" Sam asked, attracting Shawn's attention, "you're sure?"

"I can see the guy's shadow," Dean explained, "I've been flashing my lights since we left the restaurant. It's Juliet."

"Well, OK," Sam muttered, "where are you, we'll come and help you out."

"Highway," Dean replied through more static, "I'm not sure where she's going, but I'm following her."

Sam nodded. "The highway, well, that's specific, Dean. Any more vague details that could help us…where's Shawn?"

"What?"

"Shawn disappeared," Sam said just as the roar of a motorcycle engine revving up outside the office reached his ears, "and I guess your backup's on its way."


	8. So, It's Just a Person?

Yay! Another long chapter! So, will Juliet meet her maker? Or can Shawn save her in time?

* * *

"What?" Dean yelled as another burst of static shot through the line. Flashing his lights as the shadow again popped up in Juliet's backseat, he flipped the phone shut. She wasn't getting it, didn't realize she was in danger.

He stayed on her tail, wondering what was taking the damn ghost so long to get up the nerve to attack the attractive cop, when the roar of an engine drew his attention from the car in front of him. A blue motorcycle sped past the cars and Dean had a split second to worry about the speeding bike striking the grille of a large truck before the shadow again revealed itself.

Suddenly, the bike was speeding past again, right beside him, and the driver waved. "Shawn?" Dean asked as the motorcycle weaved expertly between the two cars before speeding up to the front of the line.

As soon as he had positioned himself in the middle of the road before Juliet's car, Shawn stopped. The two cars behind him, in an effort to avoid splattering him all over the highway, swerved to the side of the road.

The bike's kickstand was down and Shawn was running to Juliet's car before Dean even had a chance to turn off the Impala's engine.

"What were you thinking?" Juliet screamed as Shawn grabbed the handle of her door and began tugging at it.

"You need to get out of the car," he muttered, "_now."_

"Why?"

Shawn glanced back at the Impala. The driver's door was open, but Dean was nowhere to be seen. "Uh, well," the 'psychic' began, "because…OH! Oh, it's so bright! The lights, I can see them. Quick, you need to get out of the car. The next legend on the killer's list, it's… yes, the backseat. There's a killer in your backseat!"

Juliet gasped and turned around in time to see two legs slide out of the passenger side window in the back. She clamored out of her car just as Dean ran around his car to them.

"Which way'd it go?" the hunter asked, shotgun held at his side. Shawn and Juliet pointed at the small wooded area by the road. Dean nodded and took off at a run after the would-be killer.

It didn't take the experienced hunter long to find the panting pale figure, which had stopped to catch its breath beside a large tree. "Hey, Chuckles," Dean shouted, "every myth teaches a lesson. This one is that you shouldn't get caught." He fired the shotgun, which had been loaded with rock salt, as the ghost began to run.

The salt hit the pale figure in the back, but only succeeded in slowing it down. It ran farther away, leaving Dean standing between two tall trees. "What the hell?" he muttered as Shawn and Juliet came running up.

"We heard the shot," the officer said, "did you get him?"

"No," Dean said, "I missed."

* * *

"So, it's not a ghost?" Gus asked, "I thought you guys were experts. I thought you said it was the guy's ghost." 

"Well we were wrong," Dean said, running his fingers through his short hair as they sat in the office the morning after Juliet was nearly killed, "it's not a ghost. It's not a clown, either, just a really pale human."

"But why would he be copying James' MO?"

Dean shrugged. "People are crazy."

"At least we know where he's getting the order of the legends now," Sam sighed, "and we know which one is next. It's 'The Nut and the Nuts.'"

Shawn cocked an eyebrow. "That sounds interesting."

"_Lug_ nuts, Shawn," Gus clarified, "it's a legend about a woman who hears a lunatic's escaped from the local asylum and her tire goes flat. She gets out to change it, gets all the lug nuts off, and finds the lunatic standing behind her."

"She's startled and drops the nuts," Sam continued, "and she asks herself what she's going to do. That's when the nutjob tells her to take one nut from each of the other tires. She puts on the spare and goes on her way."

Dean nodded. "But so far all of the other legends have ended with someone's death, or _would _have. You think he'll skip this one?"

"Who knows, but we should tell the cops. They might be able to find him."

* * *

The station was busy, as it should have been, with people running around and trying to find the person responsible for the Stenson murder. The group of four people walked through the room, heading for the police chief's office, when Dean put out a hand to stop them. "Listen," he whispered. 

A woman was standing by the reception desk, relating a story to Lassiter. "And then he told me to take one nut from each of my other tires and I did. He didn't attack me. He didn't even _look_ crazy."

"But he was wearing a straight jacket?" Lassiter asked, jotting a note down on a small pad in his hand.

The woman nodded. "Yes, that's what it looked like. It was white and long-sleeved, and had buckles all down the side."

"Ok," Dean muttered, turning to look at his brother, "what's next?"

Sam pulled the list of myths he'd printed off the night before out of his pocket and unfolded it. He looked over the legends, starting with Bloody Mary. "Uh oh," he hissed.

"Uh oh? Uh oh, what?" Shawn asked.

Gus sidled up beside the tall, lanky man and glanced at the list. "Uh oh," he said, "we're next."

* * *

"That whole trip was a bust," Shawn complained as the Impala sped through Santa Barabara, "all we found out was that we're going to die soon. By the way, I love this upholstery, but, what is this? Is this blood?" 

Gus jumped and looked down at the seat. He and his friend had been shoved into the back ,and now that he was looking for it, he could see a large, dark stain on the black seat.

"Oh, yeah," Dean said, blushing a little, "sorry about that. I told Sam people could still see it, but he didn't believe me."

"What happened?" Gus asked, disgusted.

Dean shrugged. "Well, there was this demon, see, and it pinned me to the wall and pretty much ripped my guts out. Sammy put me in the backseat for the ten minute drive to the hospital during which we were hit by a semi."

Shawn and Gus nodded slowly. "So, trucks attack you often?" Shawn asked.

"Shawn," Gus hissed, "this isn't funny. This stopped being funny a long time ago. Are you still planning on turning them in?"

"In time," his friend replied softly, "we just need to make sure Sam's vision doesn't come true."

"You _believe_ them?"

"Of course. They seem like honest people."

"Thanks," Dean grinned, glancing into the rearview mirror, "you two aren't so bad yourselves."

"You heard us?" Gus asked nervously.

"Oh, come on, Gus," Shawn smiled, "they're crazy, not deaf. So, how do we stop Psychic Boy's vision from coming true?"

"We can start by driving the Impala everywhere," Sam offered, "we were in Gus' car in my vision. And we should stay off the roads at night, at least until this… whatever it is… is caught."

"It's just a person," Gus said, "nothing more, nothing less. He's obviously deranged, and picking up where James left off."

"Dean nodded. "A follower? Maybe James' kid?"

"I know one way to find out," Shawn grinned, "take the next exit. We're heading for the asylum."


	9. The Asylum

Well, it's taken me a while, but I'm finally ready to post another chapter. Time to see what kind of mischeif these boys can create at the asylum (let's just hope Sam's not packing this time, huh?).

* * *

"The FBI?" the short, balding doctor asked, "what do you need to know?"

"Everything about Benjamin James," Sam replied, towering over the man and flashing a comforting smile, "it's very important."

"Well, I'm sorry, but I can't just show you the records."

"Really?" Sam took a step closer to the man, who was shorter than most of the women he'd helped on his hunts, his smile fading, "because we really know if he had any visitors or relatives."

Shaking slightly, the short doctor nodded and led them off down a hallway. "Nice," Dean muttered as he caught up with his brother.

"Power of persuasion," Sam shrugged.

"And the fact that you're, like, twelve feet tall had nothing whatsoever to do with it," Shawn said solemnly.

Suddenly, the doctor spun around. "I'm sorry, Agent Baldwin, but all of the patient's records were burnt when he died."

"We just need to know if he had any visitors," Sam repeated.

"Anyone at all," Dean added.

"I'm sorry, but I didn't pay attention," the doctor sighed.

"Maybe we could see his old cell?" Shawn suggested, "look for clues or fingerprints."

"Who's he?" the balding man asked.

"Psychic," Dean replied, "he's helping us with a very important case right now."

The doctor narrowed his eyes, but nodded just the same. He walked off down a small hallway and led the four men to a clean white door that opened into a tiny padded cell with one barred window and a cot. "This is where Benjamin stayed while he was here," he explained, "take as long as you like." He turned and left the room, letting the door shut behind him.

"I always knew you'd end up in a padded cell, Dean," Sam grinned.

"And I always hoped you'd be in here with me," Dean smiled.

Shawn stepped forward, pushing past the brothers, and took a quick look around the room. Everything was a shade of yellowish white, all dirty. The room smelled of death and urine. The floor was spotless, except for a little bit of mud caked around one soft panel on the wall.

"Hello," the fake psychic muttered, walking up to the mud, "what do we have here?"

"What is it?" Sam asked, coming up behind him and kneeling down to look at the mud. The hunter ran his hand over the panel and felt cool air seeping through. "Step back," he said, moving up to the panel and prying it from the wall to reveal a hole just large enough for a small person to climb through.

"He dug a hole?" Gus asked, "through the concrete?"

"To escape," Sam nodded, "but then, who'd they burn?"

Dean sat down on the cot, punching at the thin mattress. After a few futile attempts to flatten out the lumps, he stood up and pulled the mattress off the smooth plastic frame. "Maybe this'll help," he offered, grabbing a handful of old photos from their hiding spot and showing them to the group. "Looks like Benny had a twin. Identical."

"He must have been sick," Gus noted, "these pictures smell like medicine. The kind of stuff they give you for heart problems."

"Are you sure that's not just the room you're smelling?" Sam asked, "because this place is pretty ripe. Then again, it _could_ always be Dean."

"Trust him," Shawn nodded, "he's got the Super Smeller."

"I've heard of a lot of weird things in my life," Dean said, "but that's got to be the weirdest. And I don't smell like pee."

"So," Shawn began, ignoring the hunter, "James spends a few years digging a tunnel and waiting for his escape, then hears that his brother is dying. His brother sneaks _in_ through the hole, and our boy Benny heads _out. _The twin dies, but everyone thinks it's the nutcase. He's free to kill again."

"Makes sense," Sam nodded, "looks like we just solved the case."

"Yeah, we did."

"We made a pretty good team," Dean observed, "you guys are gonna feel really bad when you go to turn us in."

Gus sighed. "I've been thinking. You might be crazy and all, going out and hunting demons, but you actually got me to believe you there for a while. Besides, if we turn you in, you could always do the same to us."

Shawn nodded. "I guess we just finish up the job and take the glory from another crime solved by Santa Barbara's best psychic detective. What do you say we head back to the station and finish this?"

"Sounds good to me," Sam smiled, "but we should stop back by the office first. We're going to need the name of the site, and I don't have it memorized."

"Shawn has a photographic memory," Dean pointed out.

"But he hasn't seen the papers. Pretty hard to memorize something you've never seen."


	10. Semi Sandwich, Anyone?

Another short chapter, but action-packed nonetheless!

* * *

Shawn glanced at the paper, his eyes settling briefly on the web address in the top corner before flying over the rest of the page. "Got it," he said, "let's go."

The group headed out of the office and back to the Impala, where Dean found the gas cap unscrewed. "Uh oh," he muttered, bending down and inspecting the damage. Fine white powder littered the ground around the car.

"Uh oh, what?" Gus asked.

"Uh oh," Shawn sighed, taking a pinch of the powder off of the ground and tasting it, only to find that it was sugar, "we're next."

Dean stood up and headed toward the Echo, which had been parked beside his baby. "Gus," he said, "give me your keys."

"What? No way, man, I don't trust you."

"Do you want to help the cops get this freak off the streets or not?"

"Why can't we just call them?" Gus asked, "there's a phone in the office."

"Because it's so much more convincing when Shawn writhes around on the floor in front of them. Now give me the damn keys."

Reluctantly, Gus handed over the keys to the Echo. Dean took them and headed to the driver's side. "Well, you guys coming?"

"I'm sorry," Shawn said, "but didn't your brother tell us just a couple of days ago that if we get into that car with you at night we'd all die?"

Dean sighed and looked up at the quickly darkening sky. "We can wait until tomorrow if you want, but if the freak doesn't kill _us_ it'll get someone else. Can you guys really live with that?"

"Are you trying to guilt us into walking into a semi sandwich?"

"Technically, we'd be driving, Shawn."

"We don't have a choice, do we?" Gus asked.

"No," Sammy sighed, "we don't. He's too stubborn. Get in the car."

* * *

The small blue Echo sped down the streets of Santa Barbara, the headlights of the semi shining brightly behind it as the truck gained. Dean shoved his foot to the floor, looking behind him, desperate for a way out. 

In the cab of the truck, an eerily pale face smiled maniacally. It looked almost like a clown, red nose and all. There was no doubt about it, Benjamin James had found them, and was ready to exact his revenge.

Dean pushed the Echo, willing it to go faster as Shawn and Gus watched the truck behind them slow. "I think it's giving up," Gus said happily. Dean didn't believe him, and quickly pulled off onto a gravel road.

"What are you doing?" Sam asked, cocking his head as the car finally began to slow, throwing gravel everywhere, "the station's the _other_ way!"

"Yeah," Dean said, "but in your vision we kept going straight and got smashed. I don't know about you, but I'm really not in the mood to be hit by another large truck. We'll just take this back road and come out a couple of miles behind the station. We'll go from there."

Sam nodded and settled back in his seat just as the headlights appeared behind them again. "It followed us," Gus whispered, "it followed us."

Dean stepped on the gas again, glancing into the rearview mirror to see the lights gaining steadily. "Come on," he whispered, quietly urging the car to move faster, "come on."

"Uh, is it just me," Shawn began, leaning forward slightly, "or is that curve coming up just a little too fast?"

"Time to kick it into four-wheel," Dean said.

"This car doesn't have four-wheel drive!" Gus shouted as the bend approached.

"Plan B, then," Dean smirked, cranking the wheel suddenly to the right, then to the left. The Echo skidded around the corner, going up on two wheels, before landing safely back on the road. The car began to pick up speed again.

"Where'd you learn to do _that_?" Shawn asked.

"You're the psychic. _You_ tell _me_."

Behind them, the group heard a loud crash as the semi trailer tried unsuccessfully to speed around the corner and wound up on its side. The little Echo slowed a bit, heading to the station, where the case would finally be solved.


	11. Resolution

* * *

"I see a bad moon rising," Shawn shouted as he walked through the doors of the police station, "I see trouble on the way!"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Detective Lassiter asked, walking up to the group.

"A few months ago," Dean explained, "my partner and I were hit by a semi truck in Jefferson City. That song was playing on the radio when it happened."

"yes, a truck," Shawn gasped, grabbing his forehead, "I see a truck. It's on its side, on a dirt road. It's so close, and the man inside… no, a girl with no eyes… a man with a hook… pencils, he's got pencils….it's a clown… no, a lunatic!"

"Urban legends?' Gus asked, "is that it? The Urban Legend Killer?"

"Yes, that must be it! He's in an overturned semi trailer."

"The ULK is dead, Shawn," Lassiter grumbled, glancing over his shoulder as the whole station watched the scene unfold, "it can't possibly be him."

Shawn blinked rapidly, rubbing at his eyes. "Double vision?"

"Twins?" Juliet asked, walking up to stand beside Lassiter, "the ULK had a twin named Gary."

"Thump-thump," Shawn muttered, looking around the room, "thump-thump. Does anyone else hear the thump-thump?"

"Thump-thump?" officer McNab questioned, looking up from a pile of papers that was scattered over his desk, "Like 'POTC2?' Johnny Depp is the Urban Legend Killer?"

Everyone looked at the cop out of the corners of their eyes before turning back to Shawn. "A heart?" Sam asked, "is there something wrong with his heart?"

"There was," the 'psychic' replied, "not anymore. The beating… it's stopped. I see… I see a hole… in a wall, yes, a white wall. A soft wall, like a padded cell, I'm not sure. I see a trade… no, a switch…"

"Ben and his twin brother switched places in the cell?" Dean asked, "why?"

"Ben got his freedom, and Gary was dying anyway," Juliet suggested, "it was perfect. No one ever suspected."

Lassiter sighed. "We can't do anything until we find this tunnel."

"You won't have to," Gus grinned, "you just need the semi."

* * *

"You're leaving already?" Juliet asked as Sam and Dean watched Benjamin James being taken back into custody the day after they'd nearly been sandwiched.

Dean shrugged. "We have to. We're in the middle of chasing a very dangerous, wanted criminal."

Sammy nodded. "His name's Dean Winchester. He faked his death in St. Louis, and we've been chasing him ever since."

"Ah, yes," Shawn said, walking up to the group, "I can see it inside your head. You've been hunting him ,and once you find him, you'll shoot him like a small animal and stand over his body laughing."

Dean forced a smile. "Thanks for the vivid visual, Haley Joel."

"Anytime, Diane," Shawn smirked as he turned to leave.

"The name's Dean," the hunter called over his shoulder.

"Whatever, dude!"

* * *

And now, as they say, it's all over but the PSYCH-OUT! 


	12. PSYCHOUT

And now it's time for another PSYCH-OUT!

* * *

"In between the lines there's a lot of obscurity," Sam muttered as the Impala sped out of Santa Barbara and closer to the boy's next hunt. 

"I'm not inclined to resign to maturity," Dean added.

"If it's all right, then you're all wrong," Sam continued, a little louder than before.

"But why bounce around to the same damn song?" Dean sang.

"You'd rather run when you can crawl," the brother's belted together, their voices hardly blending in perfect harmony.

"I know, you know," Sam sang, "that I'm not telling' the truth!"

"I know, you know," Dean added, off-key, "they just don't have any proof."

"Embrace the deception," Sam continued.

"Learn how to bend," Dean joined in.

"Your worst inhibitions tend to PSYCH you out in the end!" they finished, laughing.

* * *

Hey, I just wanted to thank everyone who read and reviewed. I really hope I did both shows justice (it was slow, hard going for me). Who knows, maybe some day I'll write a sequel (if I ever get the time or inspiration). Well, thanks again for sticking with it. And don't forget to watch Supernatural this Fall on the CW and PSYCH this winter on USA!

Mummyluvr


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